Ich hat 8 jahre in Deustchland gewohnen. Warum spreche ich Deutsch nicht? Scheiße!!!


This blog is a space where I've given myself permission to express my thoughts as they come to me without the pressure to clean them up, or translate them for anyone's benefit; just my naked thinking showing up as text on screen. Sometimes it's funny, sometimes poignant, sometimes absurd; kinda like me.

Three things you need to keep in mind as you read my posts:

1.) I have extremely sexy eyebrows.
2.) I didn't handpick all of those videos to the right. I love Adam Curtis, and this was my YouTube compromise.
3.) I like semicolons; I think they're fun!

Friday, February 29, 2008

Must Be Nice...

Or, "Damn, White Lady!"




So, we had someone retire today after 20+ years with the company. We had a small reception for her in one of the rooms upstairs, and the catering company brought small desserts and ice cream to go with her big ass "Happy Retirement" sheetcake.


Cool.


So, we're standing around chit-chat small talking and I notice that there are plenty of people that I don't know in the room. So, I ask, "Olga, did you work in a different department before you were here?" She did, in fact longer than she worked with us. So my guess was that that's where all these folks must be from.


Up walks one of them, "Hi, I'm Mattias, I work in Olga's old department." Aha- I have assumed correctly.

And, then up walks these two white women, each with plates overflowing with food. They walk over and join our chat, and after a few minutes I hear this:

"Hey Olga, I'm Gabriella, and this is my friend Adelle. Nice to meet you."


WHAT?!?!?!? These bitches came down to someone's retirement reception, loaded up plates full of food, and then just in case there was any confusion, and Olga thought she may have just forgotten who they were, they went over and introduced themselves to her! I mean damn white lady! Is that what life looks like outside of racial oppression. You get to be that damned relaxed about shit.


"Hey, Becky I could use some sugar, looks like there's a retirement reception. Let's go get some food."





Plates loaded down!


I just couldn't see anybody I know pulling that shit, and then to have the audacity to throw off mendacity, and walk straight up to the person retiring, and introduce yourself and your sidekick. What?!?


First of all, if I convinced someone Black to come with me to someone's retirement reception that we didn't know, there would be some discussion about any ramification on our career, we would consider when the next performance review is coming up and the strength of our last review. Has anyone we know even crashed a retirement celebration at the company? "How did you find out? Was it a general announcement? If it was a general announcement, then surely it must be okay for anyone to show up." All of this would be necessary to pump ourselves up to crash a part at work. At work, where we pick up our check to keep a roof over our head and food in our bellies.


So, let's say we go. Fuck it, let's go chile.


No one needs to say anything, but here is the plan:


  1. Hang Tight. I'm looking out for you, and you're looking out for me.
  2. Act Natural. Don't do anything that will draw attention to us or make anyone question whether we should be here.
  3. Find out as quickly as possible who the guest of honor, and avoid them like they have the Bird Flu.
  4. Make a quick and eventless exit.


Did I mention that their plates were loaded down? And with all this shit in their hands they came over, interrupted the conversation, and introduced themselves. Of course we talked about them after they walked away.

They hung out at the reception for awhile. When I was heading out myself, I passed Gabriella at the table loading up another plate. My face must have communicated what I was thinking, because she said, "Oh, I'm just making a plate to take home to my kids." I smiled and kept walking, but I thought to myself, "Damn, white lady- It must be nice..."

Oral Hygiene and the Septic Tank



so, i brush my teeth a lot. maybe a bit too, much (after every meal) a lot. i floss and brush my tongue, and rinse with mouthwash too. the whole sh'bang, a lot.

it's not a neurotic substitute for hand-washing; i chipped a molar, and after the dentist fixed me up i had an extra space that feels like it just catches any food particles in my mouth and thrusts them into my gums. i'm talking about with ford factory automation, assembly-line singularity of purpose: ram anything i eat into my gums!

so, i started carrying floss. then, after flossing, and loosening up all that plaque- i really would like to brush that crap out of my mouth. and since i've flossed and brushed, i may as well rinse with some mouthwash.

so, folks at work like to joke with me as i carry my handful of travel size oral hygiene products to the bathroom several times a day. when you see someone with this setup on the counter, even if it were for the first time, you know they are going to be there for awhile.

This has happened twice:

Bathroom Entrant: "Hey Argyle, girl are you in here brushing your teeth again? Blah, blah, blah."

Me: "Yeah, gotta keep it tidy. Especially since I'm all cute in the face."

Bathroom Entrant: "Ha ha ha, Blah, blah, blah" (Walks past me to enter the stall.)

[Then there's some paper rustling (seat cover positioning?), followed by extended silence]

Now, let me insert here that somewhere around middle school girls learn that we shouldn't make any noise in the bathroom. I can't tell you how many times I walked into the bathroom in middle school to dead silence, but all the stalls were full. Why? Because it's immodest to have someone hear our pee sound. So, how do we handle that? Pee so that your stream hits the side of the bowl, of course. There are few things as humiliating as being the only one making a pee sound in a bathroom full of other jr. high school girls.

So, her silence? Maybe just middle school vestiges. I learned that in a department with lots of older women, they prefer to pull down the paper seat cover, rather than hoover slightly. Weak quadriceps?

But, then it started...

Bathroom Entrant: [grunt]

Me: (thought bubble, "Whatthe fuck?!?)

-pause-

Bathroom Entrant: [grunt]

Me: This bitch knows I'm in here, talked to me on the way in, remarked about my brushing my teeth, and proceeds to pick a stall to take a shit?!?!? Where the fuck were you raised, Azerbaijan??? What the hell kinda shit is that? I don't even make a pee sound, and you are taking a grunting shit with me right around the corner brushing my teeth. A grunting shit?

Maybe feminism, and women's lib is fucking us up. Back to patriarchy, and repeal the advances of the women's suffragist movement. This bitch is getting too comfortable with me. Stop her from being able to go to school and pursue employment on the muthafuckin floor that I work on.

Shit, shackle my ass to a damn cotton-gin! This bitch just talked to me and then proceeded to take a grunting shit knowing that I'm still in here brushing my teeth!

Uhm- there are about 40 bathrooms in this building. Have some decency, lady! Go take a shit on the 12th floor. That's what I do.

She is really Brilliant!

So, have you ever had someone in your life that you liked and enjoyed spending time with, and then suddenly, who knows why, maybe because they enjoy spending time with you too, they decide to open up and share a piece of themselves that reveals exponential layers of depth, complexity, and profound beauty?

Maybe it's the kind of experience the Bible, or at least some guy, was referring to when he described scales falling from your eyes? It's like the transition from radio to television, or B&W to Technicolor, or color to HDTV; each move quickens your imagination and breaks down boundaries of what seems possible in the world.

This is what I loved about theological spaces. People regularly unzip and share their vulnerabilities, pain, discouragements, and triumphs with you. Certainly, it's not all that you get to see, but people are more able to interact with you from the fullness of their humanity; limitations included. They bring with them the scary/hard places that people try to ignore or cover up, resulting in their feeling isolated and confused.

I remember that the metaphor I used to use for myself was deciding to take the terrifying step of taking my arm from behind my back to show someone that I was maimed and horribly disfigured. So much so that I couldn't simply cover it with a glove, but needed to hide that piece of me to convince people that I was acceptable, desirable, and that it was safe to be close to me; because whether they wanted to be close to me or not, I desperately needed to be close to them. Isolation in your soul is a slow death.

There is always the fear of watching someone flinch, or move away, or involuntarily non-verbally communicate some form of disgust. So, I learned to walk and move with that hand obscured. I stuck it in my back pocket, or put it under my coat- resting squarely on my back.

And, when you hide your vulnerabilities and the disfigured parts of your soul, there are ways that you can learn to move and navigate your way through the world so that what people see is mysterious and intriguing, or looks like hyper competence, or, believe it or not, incredibly attractive.

People will try to emulate your gangsta-stroll with that hand resting on your back. Little do they know that they are emulating your response to pain. It's strange to see it play out, but anyone who has ever heard, "You are so damn cool!" on a regular basis can attest to the fact that unbeknownst to them, it's your pain that people are so enamored with. You're telling me that I have beautiful scars, because that's what they are.

So, in theological spaces I get to bring that arm out and people contend with the whole of me.

(Which I'm just deciding right now is actually more miraculous than having full function and total restoration to my being- although it certainly remains what every person strives for, learning to live in a community where my participation and acceptance aren't contingent upon presenting perfection is attainable. Being embraced as a full human being even while my flaws and limitations are visible is the miracle that I've experienced and offered here on earth.)

Time after time I would pull out my arm, trembling inside with uncertainty and terror, only to have it caressed by someone who would eventually roll up their pant leg, or push up their sleeve, to show me where they hurt and how they covered it up. They would tell me where they had given up on themselves, because they had given up on the possibility of being fully loved and accepted by anyone else.

So, it happened today with someone who showed me herself in a way that enabled me to catch a glimpse of the way that she radiates beauty.

Although I had seen her regularly for years, I had never seen the brilliance of her beauty like I did today.

My brain, deciding to shut itself down to the possibilities of humanity, wants to pin it on the fact that she is theological. But, the reality beyond my hopelessness is that it is because she decided that it was safe to be vulnerable.

We are all that beautiful.

Thursday, February 28, 2008

Cubicle Etiquette:



Okay: Let's get this out in the open. I work in a cubicle. I've heard people refer to them with various terminologies, like "cubicle jungle." I kinda like "cube farm." But, when I'm talking about my workspace in our department, I call our area, "The Cube." In my mind, it's reminiscent of Trech, "If you've never been to the ghetto, don't ever come to the ghetto, cuz you wouldn't understand the ghetto, so stay the fuck out the ghetto!"



Now, I know that no one else makes that association, but I do, so I like to call our area "The Cube."

"What are you doing down here in The Cube? Don't you have an office with a window?"

I will admit that I was a little bit embarrassed about not having an office, and being relegated to The Cube. I mean, as a graduate assistant sure- cubicle. But, as a professional lesbian? Then I realized- cubicles today don't necessarily signify what they did when I was growing up. Today, you can earn $73,500 a year while sitting in a cubicle; you just have a nicer desk, and real wood cabinets, and a pretty cool computer. So, [deep breath] I work in a cubicle.

It's actually not that bad, except for a few things:

1.) Personal Calls:
If you're taking a personal call, keep it down. Quite honestly, I don't care that much about your husband's prostate, your grandchild's "acting up" in school, or what kind of hi-jinx you and the girls got into last night. Take your calls, I'm cool with it, just keep it down. I'm trying to play Tetris over here, and your loud ass conversation is fucking up my rhythm.

2.) Scents:
Please, please, puh-lease put away the Bath and Body Works lotions. No, no one wants to be ashy. I certainly don't want the files to be all bloody because your crocodile hands are ripping open all over the place. BUT! Let's keep it real, you are sitting 2.7 feet away from me "separated" by a 1 inch felt partition that doesn't even go all the way up to the ceiling. Have some consideration, lady!

3.) Don't Come Around Here Asking All Loud If I Want To Contribute To Shit!
I don't appreciate you utilizing peer pressure and normative expectations to get me to give you money. Just like everyone else, I got the e-mail telling me to come by if I wanted to contribute and that you were the contact person. You didn't see me.

I don't appreciate you trying to peer pressure/shame me into changing my mind by being all loud and shit.

"Hey! Today's the last day to contribute, I just wanted to give you an opportunity to give something!" (Loud)

"Oh sorry! I don't have any cash" (Now, keep it moving!) "Thanks for asking though!" (Loud)

4.) Don't Knock:
In The Cube, there are several lego-locked cubicles, and I can't tell if you are knocking on my entrance-way, the adjacent cubicle, whether someone has bumped into the wall, or if someone is just walking by and tapping on the wall as they move through. So, I've become conditioned to turn around and check with every bump and creek. Do you have any idea how many bumps and creeks there are through the day? A lot.





5.) Don't Sneak Up On Me:
My back is turned to the entrance of my cube, and countless times I've turned around to find someone right up on me(like so close that I should feel their body heat), and I have no idea how long they've been standing there. Luckily, I work fairly hard, so I've never been caught fucking around, but sneaking up on me is still inappropriate.

(Actually, that's probably why I reflexively turn around with every bump or creek.) Just say my name. I can hear you. Think of it as someone with their office door open and respect my cubicle space bitchez!



6.) Walk Around:
Yes, we are all within earshot of each other; especially those of us with loud voices. But, don't holler out to me from 3 cubicles away. Get up off your ass and walk around. I'm not going to answer you. If you really are walk-averse, that's cool. Pick up your phone and call my extension, and then speak in a reasonable tone; by "reasonable tone" I mean use your inside voice.










6.) Don't Call People Out, Damn!:
"Birget is that you?!? I was just going to call you to make sure that you were okay!" Yes, Heike, now we all know that Birget was late. Thank you for putting her business on blast like that. Cuh-rist! How petty can you be? We all know that you don't like Birget. Stop tripping.

7.) Turn Down Your Radio
Sure, we can all use some inspiration to get through the day, but Honeychile... I do NOT need to listen to you hum-singing "His Eye is on the Sparrow" never never again.









A Hummer. Really? A Hummer?



So, I went out to lunch with some co-workers the other day, and we invited the new administrative assistant temp. She's just filling in while someone's out on maternity leave.

So, she's an older woman; in her 50's maybe?And she complains a lot about her husband being forced to retire before they were ready, and the financial woes that has caused. Every time there is a holiday she mentions 6 or 7 times that she is grateful for the time off, but it's an unpaid holiday for her. And, she's over 50 and she's working as a temp. I get it, money's tight.

So, motivated by class-guilt, pity, or genuine concern about another human being and their predicament (I really don't know), I said, "Hey, let me buy you lunch." Rationalized by the fact that she doesn't know where we're going, and just doesn't want to turn down an invitation to hang out with the crew.

So, we take her car, which is a new SUV, and I get railroaded into driving because I "know where we're going." (That's bullshit! I want to be able to relax on a full belly for the ride back to work too.) But, I drive.

So, we lunch, and the whole time I'm thinking about her wallet and and all of the times that I ended up spending more on a meal than I was comfortable with, but too embarrassed or humiliated to do anything other than pretend I was cool with it, because I was with a group of people that I liked.

So, I said, "Hey Gertrude, can I buy you lunch?" She said yes, and I said, "Welcome to the department."

So, on the way back to her suv after lunch I have the keys, and I'm trying to hit the button to unlock the doors as we walk up to the car. She looks at me and says, "No, that's for the Hummer, this is for my car."

"Hummer?"

"Yeah, my other car is a Hummer, but we bought this one because the commute is so long, and it just didn't make sense with such terrible gas mileage."

"Are you serious? Yeah? What kind of gas mileage are you talking about."

"The Hummer only gets about 15 mpg, so we bought this one for my commute."

"Huh." is what I said, "Bitch! Give me my $16 dollars back!!" Is what I thought.

No more presumptuous care-taking for me. But, I'm not being hard on myself; just two weeks ago I was raised poor. So, more gaffes to come from the middle-class black woman who recently decided that it was okay to be upwardly mobile.

I don't know how it looks from the outside, but from the inside of my face now it feels like I'm glaring at her every time she complains about unpaid time off.

"My car desperately needs an oil change, lady! Howbout that!! Show some fucking consideration!!"

Even though I'm new to this middle-class thing, I can still tell that that would be inappropriate to say.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Fuck you Prince! And you too Madonna!! But, mostly Boy George.

So, I grew up in the 80's. And, lots of fashion mistakes were made back then, but that's the era that formed my sense of what constituted fashion staples. Right? In the 80's I learned that you can wear anything as long as you have on black pants. (I also learned that it was okay to wear a jheri curl with bangs and lines cut into the side of my head. I think my parents would have been ashamed to be seen with me if it weren't for the pegged acid-washed jeans I lived in. You know the drill: fold and roll.)


So, there I was minding my own business, learning how to pick out my own clothes, just coming off of the wave of, "just get a big ass belt and put it over your t-shit" during elementary school .






And, I could tell that I was done with that. But, as I started to develop a more mature sense of fashion, I had no idea that I was doing so in the middle of an androgysexy fashion movement.












You sexy muthafuckuhaaa!!!




So, today as a professional lesbian (lesbian professional?) I get incredibly frustrated looking for clothes that I like, whereas when I was younger I had no problem finding clothes that I loved, whether I shopped in the men's or women's section. I enjoyed wearing nice clothes, and was voted "Best Dressed" for a couple of years in school, so I had some sense of what I was doing. But today, I get really frustrated in the women's section looking for clothes that I like, and the men's clothes aren't cut to accentuate my sexy eyebrows, so I'm in a bit of a quandary.


I've always liked Diane Keaton's sense of fashion. (Just a non-sequitur.)



So, I've been looking for dress shoes for about 2 years now. I have a pair that I wear, but it's not exactly what I want.
And after my last trip to the mall, opening up a full day of fruitless shoe shopping, it finally hit me. Men's fashion is distinct from women's fashion today in a way that it wasn't when I was growing up. So, when I had an easy time finding androgyclothes in 1989 and thought that the middle-ground of fashion was just where I would wallow for the rest of my days, I had no idea that this space was ephemeral and a mere 10 years later I would be left in the chasm created by the rigid separation of dichotomous gender binaries.

I'm a big fan of deconstructionist postmodernism for a variety of reasons, AND I recognize the challenges that are created for gender non-conforming people of any stripe when we become recalcitrant about examining the limitations of rigid gender roles. Patriarchy, blah, blah, blah.

But, if I may be honest for just a moment here: I'm a lesbian with some fairly sexy eyebrows, and our society's inability to think well about the expanse of what "girl" (and I guess "boy" for that matter) gets to include has cost me some damn good looking clothes. And, when I do manage to put together some nice pieces, believe me, I have had to work hard to get them.

I was duped. Bamboozled. Hoodwinked. Run amok. Railroaded? That wasn't fashion reality, it was the 1980's. So, listen to me America, or at least the 3 people who read my blog, please work through your gender shit, because I would like to have my clothing options back.

Sunday, February 24, 2008

Regression?



(click on the graph to see it more clearly.)


I came across this article from the Economic Policy Institute the other day, and immediately I said, "Damn! I had no idea that health care disparities were so much more pronounced in Hispanic communities than Black communities." Then, immediately I thought, "Really? I wonder if they are lying with numbers." Or perhaps more appropriately, I realized that I didn't understand what these numbers meant.

It has been an enlivening experience to learn how to conduct quantitative analysis, manipulate data, and take weeks or months of research and condense it into a couple of graphs. Obviously, I've learned that some things necessarily have to be left out, but the more powerful lesson (the unspoken lesson) is that the researcher gets to decide what is left out. And, what I tell you or don't tell you about my numbers will lead you to different conclusions.



Since we are so programmed in our society to see and relate to numbers as objective, absolute, and irrefutable, they stand as proof that something must be true. We've all heard that 94% of statical citations are made up on the spot, and that makes intuitive sense because we've all had to best guess percentages throughout our lives.




- "About 30% of the folks there were women."


- "How come I'm taking out the garbage 70% of the time, but I'm only responsible for 30% of the trash that we throw away? Huh? Tell me that!!!"


- "I don't feel like this relationship is 50-50. At best, and I mean at best, it's 65-35, with a 3% margin of error."



We've all said each of these things many times in the last month, so we know that someone throwing out a statistic may not actually mean that much. But, what about a graph? A graph must be reliable, right? Graphs are bullshit too? Ah- but what about a graph based on research and a data set? Yeah, what about that!?!



Can't trust it. (Thanks, Chuck D.)
Don't believe the hype! (Calm down, flav.)



From this graph, it's clear what these numbers are communicating, but I have no idea what these numbers actually mean. I would like to see the regression that was done to determine whether the researchers accounted for factors beyond race in this study.



Hispanic is distinct from White and African-American in that Hispanic communities include a significant number of undocumented immigrant laborers. So, if these folks are included in the study, certainly that will skew the results. Are Blacks "not going to a doctor because of the cost" more often than Whites because Blacks as a group earn less than Whites, or are there other factors at play such that a Black person, a White person, and a Hispanic person each earning $35,000 a year would be just as likely to see a doctor? Are Black women (as a group) earning $40,000 a year more likely to look for home remedies than White women (as a group) earning $30,000 a year? If so, then this graph may be indicating something about racial disparities, otherwise it may just be communicating class-based disparities.



Are there differences in health status between racial categories? (Research has pointed to "yes" for a long time.) And, if these disparities exist, are the health problems common to Blacks more expensive than Whites' and less expensive than Hispanics', such that a Black person earning $40,000 a year would expect to pay $137 for a visit to the doctor, pharmacist, etc. while a White person earning the same wage would expect to pay $50 for seeking medical treatment? So, in addition to class-based differences, we may also be looking at the effects health status differences between groups. So, there's a second dimension.



Are folks across racial lines who earn the same wage, and have equivalent health status, showing differences in their willingness to carry health insurance? People without insurance go to the doctor less often because of cost than people who are insured. So, are we seeing that in these numbers?



If none of that has been accounted for, then the graph, although it's pretty, isn't really helpful. It's telling you that Blacks and Hispanics have greater health care insecurities than Whites, but that may not be "true". From a policy perspective, the response would be to target Black and Hispanics with health policy initiatives, when what is required would be a policy that addresses disparities in health status, and insured status, and income as an obstacle to obtaining health care.



In essence, I'm asking for a multiple regression analysis. I was going to post a link to some site that has a really tight cogent explanation of what regression analysis is, but all I could find was stuff like this or this. So, I figure that anyone who has read this far can take it upon themselves to google it, because honestly- no one is going to learn multiple regression from a blog site anyway. I mean, I had to take Stats II to get it, and I have sexy eyebrows!



So, that's what I want to know. What do these numbers mean? I looked up the original study from the Rockefeller Foundation to see if I could find my answers there. No haps.



The intention of the graph is to support universal health care coverage, which I'm fully behind. Socialized medicine my black ass all the way to fully insured with no co-pay while you're at it. But, the graph reads as propaganda to me. Even though I support its ultimate aim, it's an example of lying with facts. And, propaganda, even in service to objectives that I support, turns my stomach; not in a condemnatory way that's fueled by disdain, but in a, "I just stopped breathing for a second and didn't even realize it"-Orwellian kinda way.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

White Racial Justice Warriors

I pulled this from The Assimilated Negro. I thought it was kinda funny.

It's a spoof of some "progressive" white kids organizing a diversity rally. I've devoted considerable study to these folks over the years.

I love how they were all geeked up about her "leadership" qualities.

Friday, February 22, 2008

Running



I've been trying for hours to motivate my body to get up and go to the gym. I even bought it new running clothes. My body hasn't had new running clothes in years. I thought it would be so excited about these clothes that it would eagerly jump up and go to the gym to show off its clothes to the other bodies.




No haps. My body is getting older, and it seems to be quite content to just hang out in a chair in a semi-comfortable position. My body doesn't feel motivated to do much. In fact, it's so committed to not being motivated that you could talk shit about it, and it wouldn't even be offended.



"Whatever. You got any ice cream?"



C'mon body! This is how you feel when you run!












"Yeah. About that... I've been meaning to tell you, this is how I look though."











My body and I finally made it to the gym. It was closed, because who the hell goes to the gym at 9pm on a Friday? So, we came home determined to hit the pavement and get a run in before the concert tonight.

I finally put on my pajamas and accepted that I'm not straying too far from my chair. No concert. No run. Just my new technical fabric clothes.
Back to streaming "Friday Night Lights."

Who's the Patron Saint of Vanity?



Because, fuck em! FUCK THEM!


So, I'm a woman. I started out as a girl. I like to wear jeans a lot. I look pretty good in a dress, but I don't wear them that often, because I get attention from men that masquerades as an attempt to engage my person, but it's really just sexually charged exploratory probes, and i don't know how to disengage that without being mean. There's some kind of gendered role tap dance of predator/prey, or pursuer/pursued that conflates with female gender education. We learn as little girls, or at least we did when I was a little girl, to reign in our sexual appetite, otherwise we become one of "those kind of girls."


I'm a big fan of "those kind of girls" who held on to, and accessed their sexual agency from youth. But, they're not the point today. Today, I'm talking about women who have been socialized to engage men, and signal that they are interested in men, by allowing men to pursue them. That's what it means, or at least what I was taught, to appropriately express interest in a man. You can allow him to pursue you.


But! We're suppose to put up some kind of resistance, even if it's light. "I don't mean to sound sleazy, but tease me. I don't want it if it's that easy." (Who was that, L.L.? I just remembered- Tupac.) So, men learn that women who continue to engage them, even if they throw off their advances, may in fact be women who are communicating some level of sexual attraction.


Well, I like people. I like people a lot. And, when I wear dresses, I forget that I have identified myself as a player in this ritual. So, when I'm nice to someone who appears to be interested in being nice to me I get confused when they can't, or won't, unhook the sexualized aggressive component.


And, so there is this dance (tap dance doesn't capture it, I'm thinking of ballet, but it's something along the lines of Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon meets capoeira, because the two players continue to spin off of and dance around each other, rather than retreat off into the heights of bamboo trees to catch their breath.) this dance of expressing escalating interest, and me expressing escalating disinterest- while still remaining engaged.


Until at some point, out of frustration and exasperation I have to say or do something mean. Clear and consistent rejection of sexual interest while remaining engaged doesn't seem to work for me, and the only out I feel left with often is to say something abrasive, and then I feel like shit afterwards. So, I don't wear dresses that often, although the world feels really nice in a dress.


I don't know how that started, except that I'm a woman. And, I'm kinda vain. Kinda, like a snake kinda doesn't have any legs. And, for some reason, God only knows why... my hairline is starting to thin out around the edges.


WHAT!?!?


Yes, I'm a woman in my thirties, and I'm needing to give consideration to my hairline? Who the fuck was suppose to tell me this? Someone dropped the ball here. Mom? Grandma? Aunt Clair? (I don't really have an aunt clair, but it rhymes with hair.)


Uhm, girls aren't suppose to have to worry about their hair getting thin. That's one of the many wondrous things about getting to be a girl. Shit.


So, fuck you Saint, whoever you are. Hera?

Thursday, February 21, 2008

A different kind of drug problem

I got this e-mail from a co-worker, and my reflex was, "Uhm, this is inappropriate in the workplace. Why are you forwarding this to me?"


Normally, I hate these e-mails. You know, the kinda sappy that shoots for sentimentalism, but misses the mark. An e-mail that tries to be clever, but isn’t, and yet somehow still manages to make it to your inbox with, "FWD:FW:FW:Fwd:FW:FW” in the subject line.

Anything that’s been forwarded 13 times has got to be good, no? Most of it makes me think back to those e-mails that folks were forwarding in the early 90’s to get paid by AOL or PepsiCo. for each person they sent the message to.

“My friend’s brother is a lawyer, and he says this is for real… They have to pay you!” [Uhm- It's not real.]

So, normally I’m not a big fan of receiving these e-mails, but this one hit a different chord. This article reminds me of the reality that Black folks were indeed reared on strong values and upright morality; a prioritizing of the needs of people in the community that did not seek to exploit their vulnerability for personal gain. And not a long ass time ago either. I came up on the cusp of this change, although in many places this remains true of our communities.

My parents had “horror” stories from their childhood of being forced to go clean up someone’s yard or clean up someone’s house who was old or sick, and being drug to the woodshed for accepting any money from that person. I think that class mobility and the pretense of middle-classness separates people of color in a way that is toxic to healthy communal striving. And, as someone in my thirties, it’s hard to remember that the ubiquitous stereotypes have never really had anything to do with Blackness.

In fact, the same characteristics which are held up to laud “model-minority” communities, have actually been true of us all along. It’s hard to hold onto that truth in the face of so many messages (both from people of color and colorless people) that we are lazy, unintelligent, undeserving. I think that’s what the string of contemptuous traits are held together to communicate; Black people are undeserving.

I know that there is plenty to love and laud about my people, but this clipping helped me to clean out some of the places where it got hard for me to remember that ubuntu has always been true of my people.

I remember after seminary I was going to buy myself a graduation present of a some t-shirts that said “Nigger” in bold block letters across the front. And across the back I would have had the Desmond Tutu quote, “If you are here to help me, then you are wasting your time. But, if you are here because you recognize that your humanity is wrapped up in my humanity, then come, let us work together.”

I had a screen printer price it for me- got a discount, picked out all the colors, and then cancelled the order. The other day I saw (who was it? Chris Brown? Chingy? Somebody!) coming down the red carpet with a t-shirt that said “Nigger” across the front. Maybe I’ll still get those printed. Mine won’t have rhinestones outlining the letters though.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

You're One of Us Now

So, I was at a club the other night and some woman came over to chat me up.

Her: "Blah, blah, blah."

Me: "Oh, blah, blah, blah"

Her: "You're so funny. So, where are you from?"

Me: [Having recently decided that it's important not to negate this big ass chunk of who/why/how I am] "I grew up in Germany."

Her: [smiling] "Wow! How long have you lived here?"

Me: [After a couple of drinks not realizing that she wasn't asking me when I moved from my house on the other side of town to my new place on this side of town.] "Oh, a couple of months."

Her: [Very pedantic] "Well, you can just say that you're from here now.


WTF?!? That's when I realized that she was asking me how long I'd been in country. So, you're telling a grown ass woman, that you think has been living abroad until a couple of months ago to just claim whatever city she finds herself in. Cuh-rist. Where are you from? I think I would have felt spurned if the power imbalance were tilted in the other direction, but she sought me out because she thought there was something engaging about me. Probably my eyebrows. I have very sexy eyebrows.

Me: [Slow nod of feigned agreement. Walks away to the dancefloor.]

Uhm- I have such deep-seated shit about growing up in Germany that I had to start a blog about it. Hello?

Monday, February 18, 2008

Happy President's Day!

I like how he readjusts his finish to make for a better follow-through pose.

After all, the cameras are rolling.

Pimp.

Did he just do that?!?!

I'm just hanging out in a coffee shop, minding my own damn business when some middle-class looking white guy comes and sits down near me. On the other end of the couch to be precise. So, he's one of the folks that stuffwhitepeoplelike.org conjures up for me. he's got a backpack, with some leather folders that he's pulled out, a steno pad, and a laptop; an IBM- one of the "oooh, can I see that" new ones.



He's got a couple of days growth worth of facial hair, which he keeps scratching. I guess hair growing out of your face is itchy? So, out of the corner of my eye, I see him stick his scratching/picking finger in his mouth. Hmmm... did he just pick his face and then put it in his mouth? Nah. Probably just bites his nails...



So, I move on with editing my previous entry, and he does it again. Distinctive, scratch, pick, eat. Now, I'm honestly kinda grossed out by it, so I turn and look at him; straight on, sustained for a few seconds at least. He doesn't make eye-contact.



But, now he knows I'm noticing him. Wait! Did he just rub his nose and then "bite his nails"?

No! Can't be.



So, again I turn and , not look, but stare at him. Nothing reserved, no niceties, stare at him.



He never meets my gaze, just tappity-tap tappity-tap on his laptop.



And after a couple of seconds of me staring at him, he takes his index finger, shoves it up his nose, burying it all the way to the fucking knuckle, and roots around for a second.



"Are you serious?"



He then takes his index finger, examines the nail, and then sticks it in his fucking mouth!!!



You nasty muthafuka!! You dirty, nasty sonofabitch!!! What the fuck is wrong with people?!?



We are in a crowded ass coffee shop, with exposed brick, art hung on the wall, a beer and wine menu, and sitting on the comfy couch next to me you are sitting here eating your boogers!?!?



You nasty mutha...



Fuck it! This guy. This guy right here! If you're nasty enough to do that shit in a crowded public space- this guy.


The ONLY reason I didn't say anything was because I have papers on the sofa between us, and I didn't want him to touch my shit.

I'm gonna go find something else to do, because I feel like vomiting now.

I don't even know what to say!

Oh- and he's still doing it.

Class Mobility and Blackness

Okay- I'll admit it. I'm solidly middle-class and upwardly mobile. I can access greater class privilege than my parents, who each certainly appreciated greater class privilege than their parents. But, I forget that I wasn't raised poor. I have enough memories of struggling with money, or not being able to afford something, or having friends with ____'s that I wanted, or whatever in my ecology of memory (I learned that phrase in seminary, and I love when I get to whip it out!) that I can pull together a convincing "raised poor" argument; persuasive enough to convince myself at least.


Beyond the references above, which could easily be just as descriptive of any episode of "Sweet 16," I have memories of not having electricity, or being humiliated because I was starving and didn't have the money for food, or countless other memories I could detail. But, what I realized, or perhaps accepted, is that those were mostly my college experiences which where fueled by a financial practice of buying my wants, begging my needs, and being too proud to ask for help. Not the same as being raised poor. In fact, although I think that Ruby Payne has some incredibly shortsighted and even harmful analyses offered in her book, "Understanding Poverty" (utter crap!) I will pull her phrase "situational poverty" to describe my relationship to poverty. I simply made a decison to stop electing to be poor, and framed my life differently. I don't think that qualifies me as raised poor.


I can pass for raised poor though. I think. Maybe I've only been fooling myself and unobservant white folks all these years? Who knows?


In any case, I've started reading again and it feels GREAT! I just started Harold Cruse's "The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual," and one of the thoughts that I'm chewing on is that bougie black folks are requisite for revolution. (Here, I mean bougie in all of its pejorative connotations, as well as its class privilege.) Cruse likes to use the term economic nationalism which highlights a gap in the Black Nationalist movement, or at least as I came to understand it, with its critique of middle-class and wealthy Black folk. Participation in, and deriving benefit from, capitalism, which is the root of the systemic racism responsible for the horrors continually visited upon Black folks is treasonous; not exclusively because the accumulation of wealth is libelous- we all want money. No, but because the accumulation of wealth in America requires participation in a culture imbued with values and judgements, and those who successfully participate in such systems are influenced by them. White supremacy is no respecter of persons; Asian people, Black people, Sub-Saharan African people, Indo-Norwegian people can support thinking and institutions which advance white privilege and culture at the expense of all others.


And, the US has seen more than its fair share of upwardly mobile Black folks turn back to berate the "Black Community" for their refusal to apply themselves so that they too could escape the confines of oppression. Speaking, perhaps for the first time, with the full weight of America's central institutions behind their words and conviction, these bougie folks serve a role in the maintenance of oppression. "See? Black folks even acknowledge that the reason their lives aren't better is because they refuse to stop being victims."


We get the opportunity to be mouthpieces for some of the most virulently racist accusations in exchange for our class privilege. We get to let white folks off the hook by not forcing them to say these heinous things; at least not publicly. The rewards will take you all the way to the Supreme Court, and will make you a global force to contend with as the Secretary of State. You can become a university president, a department manager, the smartest teacher in your school, or just the only one who "really gets it" no matter where you are.


So, bougie Black folk, we get to be mouthpieces in service to oppression, reinforcing the veracity of fucked up belief systems, and despised by our broader communities, all the while disconnected from ourselves. Or, we can always choose what's behind door number 2: "I'm apolitical." It's just safer to keep my opinions to myself, or even better, keep them from myself. "I simply don't have any thinking about that. Wanna talk about shoes or the game?"


Well, Cruse briefly outlines a history leading up to the Harlem Renaissance, and sets it parallel to the Greenwich Village renaissance; noting the absence of a Mabel Dodge. Without a figure, or figures with the resources (financial, social, and otherwise) to provide the leadership necessary for success, Cruse suggests that the Harlem Renaissance was eclipsed by the potential of what its collective talents could have accomplished.


To be clear, I'm not arguing toward DuBois' vision in service to the Talented Tenth, or the co-optation of the Black liberation struggle by class-privileged folks. Nope. I'm offering that middle-class and wealthy Black folks have a central role in the liberation of Black folks, or at least the transformation of systems of oppression targeting all of us. I contend, based on brand new thinking birthed only a few moments ago, that this role is to support institutions which cultivate and produce Black expressions. Expressions of thought, expressions of art across its myriad forms, expressions of anger and rage, expressions of hopefulness, expressions of criticism and critique aimed at highlighting the limitations of our current and past political struggles. It is in these institutions that the next steps toward our eco-socio-political liberation is being birthed and aborted.


Beyond "support black owned" establishments, far beyond, the accumulation of material wealth (or just some financial resource) comes with the opportunity to participate in our struggle against oppression in new and innovative ways. We can help to sustain spaces that produce liberatory thoughts, movements, and people who are free to conceptualize blackness as broader, freer, and more powerful than any in recent memory.

Have you ever tried to build a program fueled exclusively by impoverished people? Without vigilance, insufficient financial resource impoverishes your spirit. Poverty robs you of your energy, your time, your desire, your hopes, even your ability to dream, as your focus is honed on survival with laser-sharp precision. Organizers in communities of color constantly complain about the struggle to stave off well-meaning white people, to regulate the number of students, and to increase the actual representation (or better yet, leadership) by community folks who are intended to be the direct beneficiaries of these efforts.

Oppression takes it toll, even on your ability to show up, or know that it matters whether you do or not. Building and sustaining infrastructure is a beast when your core contingent struggles to hold onto the knowledge that it matters whether they show up.

We need some class-based vertical linkages in this liberatory struggle, which inform our analysis, our movement-building strategies, even the language and that we use, and the way that we frame our history. Class privileged folks cannot pursue liberation on behalf of anyone but ourselves, as much as we would like to think otherwise. It's not a limitation, no one can liberate another. We can give them what we think they deserve, but without their participation what is birthed is not indeed their liberation.

Under-resourced black folks are too small in number to effect change on a systems level, and a violent uprising would quickly get quashed, all the while feeding more workers into prisons to serve as cheap labor for an eager market. Since, we are interested in the same ultimate objective, and can't be successful independently, we may as well work collaboratively. Not incidental collaboration, but planned collaboration that is thought out, sought, and brings us closer to our shared goal as a liberated people with the agency to self-determine the nature, scope, and desires of our humanity; leaving room for the dynamic nature of human beings that shifts and changes over time.

Certainly there are other ways to plug-in and participate in the ongoing freedom struggle, but never have I understood the Black middle-class as the source of wealth and resource required to fund and support the institutions necessary to serve as the backbone of a successful liberation struggle through our participation in them. Certainly, "cut a check" is nothing novel, but the vitality of a Black liberation struggle resting squarely upon the participation of class privileged Black folks, whose eventual recognition of these systems as theirs too, protects and insulates them to increase their longevity- I haven't heard that as an argument against attacking and ultimately including class privileged folks in the struggle for all of our liberation.


So, I'm middle-class ya'll. Always have been, even when I made decisions to choose poverty over class mobility, because I feared becoming a sell-out, a Black Republican, or loosing my connection with my Blackness. My Blackness encompasses James Cone's constructs and so much more than that. It's interesting to me that we have a richness of what Blackness can mean in poverty, which dissipates into assimilation and ultimately non-existence with class privilege.


Ballers and balla's, have been with us for some time in many forms that hearken back to the enslaved Africans dancing for white slave owners when they brought company into the slave quarters to be entertained. And, all manner of minstrelsy have been with us for some time. These are depoliticized, however, and have not actively been understood as roles for those interested in "the struggle." So, too are today's athletes and industry elites characterized as roles that stand outside of the liberation struggle against oppression and all of its accompanying eco-socio-political responsibilities.

What does it mean to have a liberation struggle that doesn't stop with class divisions? Hard? Yup. A pain in the ass? Yup. Required to suffer paternalism and the constant onslaught of internalized oppression wreaking havoc in our midst? Happens already.

It just occurs to me, as I accept my middle-class upbringing, and my upwardly mobile future, that class privilege does not have to mean a death sentence for a revolutionary. Right, Eldridge Cleaver?

Sunday, February 17, 2008

FIN!!!


Finally, Finally, Thank you Baby Jesus, Finally!!! I have finished my research paper. Well, except for going back and finding the sources that go along with my footnotes- but no more hunting down comma splices, no more collapsing run-on sentences, no more fucking redaction! FIN!

So, here is an excerpt from my tortured brain trying to wrap itself around federal budget reform through the lens of chaos theory.

The OYG method is employed in markets with unstable periodicity when multiple factors of influence, particularly those which are beyond the bank’s control, are contributing to the “randomness” of output. In this instance, an administrator would determine which system parameters are within its control, and manipulate them in relation to intended outcomes. OYG is the PBB of chaos theory, in which administrators measure the correlation between their various inputs and intended outcomes; allocating toward an identified goal, while recognizing that many factors, such as economic shifts, changes in executive funding priorities, and fluctuating public preferences will also impact the budget and its outcomes.[1]
DFG assumes endogenous control of outcome fluctuations in continuous systems.[2] At regular intervals, measurements are taken to determine the corrective course of action to be taken, if any. These corrective actions may include increasing or decreasing spending, or allocating dollars to a completely different initiative. PART analysis may be understood as a tool of DFG, as analyses occur at regular periods, and outcomes are measured against program funding levels. Regular feedback across time is an integral component of successful reform within a complex and chaotic system.[3]

I don't know why I made it so hard on myself. Honestly, there was no need for the chaos theory filter, or "hermeneutic" as many people around me once were fond of saying. I think I have this Black Intellectual proclivity to continue to heap conceptual weights upon myself until my poor little brain legs are wobbly and can barely stand- ahhhh, yes that feel familiar. Now, Run!

Carter G. Woodson's insights are far reaching; even into the innermost sanctuaries of how an oppressed person relates to themselves and structures their thinking about the world around them.

I can't even dream or imagine new ideas in an academic context unless it's so painful that it burns. "Oh, you've given me a manageable assignment, with a reasonable timeline for completion?" Not to worry, I'll complicate it and start late so that I have sleepless nights, and barely meet the deadline. What? There's no academic whip? Do not worry, I've got one of my own. Believe you me, I know better than anyone how to create the conditions for my failure and then strive from there. Rest assured, I'll suffer.

That is the back door that Woodson spoke of in Miseducation of the Negro. I know "my place" in academic institutions, having been taught by a history of having my thinking met with seething scrutiny and disdain; mocked as mediocre and unexamined opinions which were better left uncontributed. So, "my place" is now to take that role on myself, continually subjecting each and every thought to the harshest criticisms so that the feeble and abused thinking that emerges is more likely to escape scorn and ridicule from others. Prototypical internalized oppression even in how I approach thinking!

God Damn! I'll whip me so that you don't have to. Shit! This stuff runs deep.

It makes me wonder where my mind would be, and how freely my thinking would flow if it weren't continually subjected to a toxicity that is rationalized as a process to make me stronger.

It's certainly why I fully support neighborhood schools, rather than integrated schools. I would much rather see see the conversation framed as how to ensure adequate resources, technology, training, and incentivization are utilized in public schools; not how to take flourishing minds and send them to environments that are hostile to their development as an exercise to "reward" them and enhance their development.

I'm 34 years old, and I can't even write a paper without recreating the toxicity that surrounded me as I learned to think. What's even more haunting is that until this moment, I didn't even realize it.

I've been working hard to relinquish the "perfection" that has a death grip on me, because it's nothing more than a socially acceptable means of referring to the imposition of unattainable standards. And, everyone knows that that's just a lot of words strung together that mean, "oppression."

So, since I have decided to share some of my "naked thinking"; if you happen to come across a misspelled word, a grammatical error, or some other such triviality- move the fuck on, cuz' I really don't need to hear about it. If, however, you are inclined to engage my thinking (agree or disagree), or just feel moved to share some of your own- I would love to see how your brain works, and hear what you have to say.

"When you control a man's thinking you do not have to worry about his actions. You do not have to tell him not to stand here or go yonder. He will find his "proper place" and will stay in it. You do not need to send him to the back door. He will go without being told. In fact, if there is no back door, he will cut one for his special benefit. His education makes it necessary."
-- Dr. Carter G. Woodson, "The Miseducation of the Negro"

Stimulating

Okay, this is the post that I planned to write earlier today, but somehow got derailed by presidential pimpology.

In any case, I had a conversation with a co-worker the other day about the presidential stimulus package and the tax rebate of $600 to individuals and $1,200 to couples (1 male, 1 female, filing jointly couples). And, my colleague was up in arms over the implications on Earned Income Tax Credit (EITC) filing eligibility; asserting that the refund would more than pay for itself through preventing a significant percentage of otherwise eligible households from claiming the credit.

Well, okay? Kinda. Sure, go on...

So, her theory, which she supported by referencing some talk radio show, and conversations with friends, is that the refunds are in fact a plot to reduce government expenditures by disqualifying as many people as possible from EITC eligibility. (hmmm... veeerrry interesting...)

Wrong!

Certainly, it's an interesting thought, and I'm all for George Bush doesn't care about Black people, but this administration is trying to game you out of money by giving you a refund? C'mon!

Is the administration banking on the money passing right through your hands back into the economy, rather than being saved or invested? Certainly. It wouldn't stimulate the economy otherwise, but I just don't buy this particular assertion of strategery.

Regardless of the size of the rebate, some households will be pushed over the threshold of eligibility. Households are within $50, $89, $475, hell, even $3 of the eligibility ceiling. The greater the rebate issued from the government, the larger percentage of homes that will become ineligible. I mean, if you really want to fuck up poor Black people, issue a $10,000 rebate per household, regardless of whether they filed taxes last year or not. That'll show em! Ha!

Also, I'm not sure whether these moneys must be recorded as income, and therefore will impact one's EITC eligibility anyway. I mean, certainly it might, but I'm just not motivated enough by the subject to take a few keystrokes and the sustained attention to find out. Point being that her whole argument may be moot, but even if it isn't it certainly isn't based upon sound reasoning, or informed by economic analysis that calculated inflows versus outflows at various rebate levels.

I love radicalized, politicized, hell- I'll take informed! black folks. I love us! However, don't come at with some bullshit half-reasoned, flying off the handle, weak-ass argument as the basis of sinister plotting and scheming against economically and politically vulnerable communities. That flash in the pan, static on the line, analysis makes it much harder to build support or even educate folks with respect to critical real life/death shit that is being perpetuated with malice and intent.

There is enough real shit going down on the daily, heinous sinister shit, that we don't need folks running around and popping off about bullshit. It detracts from movement building, and disrupts systems changing.

George Bush is a Pimp!

It looks like President Bush has signed his economic stimulus package into law. Quite honestly, I didn't think it would happen. How in the midst of the Comptroller General running from coast to coast with a team of economists, budget analysts, and financial experts under the banner Fiscal Wake-Up Tour do the recession-staving solutions proposed by Bush gain sufficient support to make it into law?

I may need to dust off my School House Rock civics lessons: I'm just a bill. Yes, I'm only a bill And if they vote for me on Capitol Hill- Well, then I'm off to the White House, where I'll wait in a line, with a lot of other bills- for the president to sign. And if he signs me, then I'll be a law. HOW I hope and pray that he will, but today I am still just a bill.

But, rather than spend lots of time disagreeing with the strategies employed by the President, who by the way- I am respecting more and more each day. Certainly not because I agree with his initiatives and policy priorities, hell naw! But, because he is so damn gangsta in his approach to public governance. Cavalier, pompous, arrogant, bully pulpitier... gangsta! He will nominate his former secretary to the Supreme Court! He will go to war on made up evidence, and pull together a Coalition of the Willing complete with 6 countries that had no armed forces to speak of and 33 other countries who "committed" their troops only after the invasion was complete! Stole the election (Twice!), and reduced the size of government by handing over previously publicly provided responsibilities (read, "accountable to the public") to his friends and business interests.

Black people can't do that shit!

He instituted a style of communication with the press/public that was openly hostile and condescending. Under his leadership, through initiatives such as tax rebates to individuals, as well as tax expenditures in the form of "corporate welfare" his administration ate through the largest federal surplus of the century. They openly toyed with us, and told us to buy "duct tape" in response to bio-hazards and chemical warfare threats, while telling New Yorkers that the particles in the gray smokey air surrounding Ground Zero were completely safe to breathe. No need for government intervention or public health responses. Saddam Bin Laden... Had that cell phone video not been leaked to the press we never would have known.

The list goes on and on, as this administration has created a political atmosphere of secrecy shrouded in fear-mongering. "Don't taze me bro!" That shit is just acceptable now, no matter what side of the aisle to hail from.

Defcon 4? Threat level orange? What is that shit really suppose to mean? Live your normal day-to-day life, but when you go to the airport pick up your hypervigilance and paranoia? At least they remember to seize my baby oil and lotion every time I fly. The nation as a whole is far safer with dried out ashy black folks running around without our confiscated "products."

I'm honestly gobsmacked! No other word comes to mind, except, "That muthafuka did that!" It's as if- Oh, and look at his professional career before the presidency. Politically, I knew him only the Governor who refused to support the Byrd Hate Crimes Bill. Then there was the history of drug abuse, and Arbusto, and....

George Bush is a pimp. He, Rove, somebody has trained his administration in pimpology, and they have a ride or die devotion to Pimps Up, Hoes Down. If they need to cut you loose they will cut you loose. Remember Scooter Libby? How else do you get someone going on national television apologizing to you for what you and your family "had to go through" when you shot them in the face!?!

Pimps! And guess who the hoes are.

So, the image that comes to mind is someone who can stand at a press conference, get a question they "don't appreciate", stop their handlers saying, "Oh no, I got this." Walk off the stage, backslap the reporter (all of this being televised, mind you), and then walk back on stage. Mic up, and ask for the next question while picking lint off of his jacket.




That is our president! P-I-M-P!




So, all of that was simply an aside to say I stand diametrically opposed to the President, his policy priorities, and the outcomes sought by his administration, but I'm gaining more respect for him.

So, in keeping with this style of leadership, we have an economic stimulus package that will obligate his spending priorities even after he has left office.

He did that!

Saturday, February 16, 2008

Wicked Progressive


I know that this was last month, but DAMN it's certainly worth repeating over-and-over and over-and-over...
Cambridge also elected the nation’s first openly gay black mayor, Simmons’ predecessor, Kenneth Reeves. I must say that Cambridge is Wicked Progressive.

Congratulations, Denise Simmons!

THANK YOU!
Dear Friends,
First, I want to thank the voters for re-electing me to the City Council, then to thank my colleagues on the Council for giving me their vote of confidence.On January 14, 2008 I was sworn in as mayor of the City of Cambridge. It is a sincere pleasure to be able to serve in the city of my birth. I never imagined that one day I would have such an honor and privilege.Cambridge is an incredible city.I am currently serving my fourth term on the Cambridge City Council. And, as mayor, I am the chair of the City Council and the School Committee. The mayor also serves ex-officio on the subcommittees of the City Council. As Mayor, I will continue engaging the community through the town meeting model. It is my hope to hold a follow up to the Race and Class forum as well as the second GLBT town meeting. As the chair of the school committee I will work toward supporting family involvement and pursue new ways to achieve Academic Excellence.This is an historic occasion for the African American community and the GLBT community to have one of their own serving Mayor of a major city. A native Cantabridgian, I have worked tirelessly for the city. I look forward to this new term, serving as Mayor and with working with and for the community
Sincerely,

E. Denise Simmons
Mayor


Is "Condi" a Black woman's name?



It would be nice to see some other images of "successful" Black women in the political sphere. It tires me to see Black women who are chewed up and spit out in ways that leave them alternately broken, self-effacing, or simply invisible as we are discarded across the landscape of political history.


  • Shirley Chisholm running for President to make a statement, not because she thought she was electable.

  • Fannie Lou Hamer being pimped and sacrificed by King, as he desperately grasped like a wildman to maintain his political influence.

  • Cynthia McKinney, being pimped by the GOP and Denise Majette, scared to open her windows even after she has left office- for fear of being murdered.

  • And, Condi, excuse me, Dr. Rice. She's the Black woman's Clarence Thomas.

Just once it would be healing to see a Black woman who wasn't broken by the system, or accepted into the system because she was already broken and therefore a potential tool to forward the agenda of oppression; blaming Black folks for the current conditions which have resulted from intentional and targeted efforts to restrict, contain, and alternately annihilate us.


But, if you would smile more, and pay attention in school, things would be just fine for you Blacks. Oh, and pull up your pants. The only thing standing between you and an end to the legacy of American slavery is a belt. Legislative violence, political violence, economic violence, social violence, physical brutality is really all simply a matrix of strategies designed to get you to pull up your pants. Loose the baggy clothes, and they'll find something else to harp on.


The problem is not the trappings of Blackness; the problem is Blackness itself. Why don't they make James Cone mandatory reading for Civics class and citizenship applications? At least then, Blackness could be framed as the liberatory agent in this whole fucked up system, whether we decide to Paulo Friere our way out of this or not. Frantz Fanon anyone?

The Trap: What Happened to Our Dream of Freedom?

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=4191382246884244677&hl=en

I love Adam Curtis!

I love that he highlights, although it may be far from his intent, that America is not as particular and unique as we may think. In fact, many of our society's ails are replicated, with haunting similarity, throughout the United Kingdom. I love his critique of unbridled capitalism, and its confluence with social, political, and justice systems.

John Nash, and his Nobel Prize worthy exploits resulting in game theory, are reliant upon an econohominid who makes continuous cost-benefit calculations, and chooses to advance their own interests particularly when doing so comes at the expense of others. This "successful" strategy assumes that no one else will adopt a cooperative approach, or if they do that the best case scenario is them being cooperative and you being non-cooperative. Each person is out for themselves, so you too mush be out for yourself if you are to advance. This is the thinking of paranoia, but it is presented as though it is the thinking of "everyone around you" so of course you must adjust. Worse, it is the thinking of an economist or public manager who is called upon to stabilize or govern public systems and then train others on the most efficient and effective structures for organizing public resources.

I like how Curtis explores the use (or myth) of redemptive violence; particularly in a political context. Often we are taught that redemptive violence is a lie by the very powers who have secured and maintain their power through the use of overt violence.

I like they contextualization of game theory and arrow’s impossibility theorem (i.e. democracy is inefficient) within a paranoid context, given the schizophrenic beautiful mind that birthed them. (There is more time spent with Nash in episode 1.)

Are markets efficient? That depends on how you define efficiency, and what you intend the market to accomplish. Are open markets an effective tool to concentrate wealth in a single sector? Yup. Do they do it efficiently? Yup. Do they do it fairly? Well, that depends on what you mean by "fair". If through a set of agreed upon rules I can acquire all of your capital such that all you have left to support yourself is your labor, which you provide to me in exchange for goods to survive, is that fair? I haven't violated any of the agreed upon rules, but I know heading into the exercise that ultimately this will be the outcome. Deregulated markets exploit vulnerable communities even when they don't violate "the rules".

I love the way that Curtis lampoons the limitations of public sector efficiency measures! New Public Management is the salvation of public governance? Why? Efficiency measures, of course. These measures are so easily, and quite regularly gamed, that the confidence in this era of "cleaning up" government is laughable at times. The greater the consequences associated with performance "failures", the more we will see outright abuses and gaming of these measures. High-stakes aggressive enforcement leads to more egregious abuses.

I like the the context (albeit simplified) that Curtis sets for the rise of neo-conservativism in the US, and the market-driven solutions to public eduction, foreign policy, public health, class-erosion, etc.; including some of the similarities between Reagan, and Clinton, which set the stage for Frantz Fanon- who can trace his ideological ancestry back to Robespierre and beyond. I'm sure that governing bodies figured out that terror was an effective strategy for public control and manipulation, but the French Revolution turned it into a political art. Our government's use of terror is a blunt instrument that they just use to club us by comparison. It ultimately imploded on the French,

Liberation or Control? The same tools and tactics continue to be used in service to each, and depending on your perspective there are places where the two concepts are concentric. The same state of affairs can be described with either. It just depends on where you stand and who you talk to.

Check out some of Curtis’ other BBC documentaries. He explores similar themes throughout.

I will throw in that some of his stuff can be a bit alarmist, such as The Trap. I'm not really digging the way he understands the role of reporters, but I just attribute that to the distinct roles of the media in Britain and the US.

The Power of Nightmares though. I love that one.

Stuffwhitepeoplelike.org

Or, http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.wordpress.com/ depending on which site works at this point.

So- I think that the site is funny. Countless, "Oh yeah!" experiences, and "Damn! White people do love them some ____'s” right? So, that was amusing, and I could think of plenty of stories to go along with nearly every entry I read on the blog.

But, this site has an entirely different and far more sinister/convoluted/charged subtext that comes out when you read the comments. Lot’s of pointed criticism led someone to quip that white people like "being critical without being constructive", or something like that. But, there was this narrative of trying to determine the race of the blogger to determine how to react to the comments: self-loathing white person? Envious black person, enraged by their inability to access all of the privileges and advantages of whiteness? American, who is trapped by their nationalist perspective. What is the basis upon which to write off this person's observations as irrelevant, biased, or even bigoted?

So, I realized that there was a peek into the white socialization process on this blog's comments; particularly in the racist comments, that simply shifted their target as a new race was assumed of the blog's creator. (Thandeka wrote a great book about the process maybe 10 years ago, "Learning to be White: Race, God, and Money in America". There may be better newer stuff, but I stopped reading right around the time I stopped thinking several years ago.)

Rather than explicating various theories of white socialization, which I may delve into tomorrow if I' still too tired to leave the house, the piece that I got from reading the comments on the site was that several forces (guilt, class privilege, race privilege, intellectualism, guilt, popularization of and access to non-white cultures, guilt) squeeze younger white folks into spaces of trying to define and live out "acceptable" whiteness. This blog points out and makes light of the characteristics of that group of white folks. and, the backlash for doing so is racist attack; which seems so disproportionately overreactive in the context of someone saying that white people like bicycles, swimming, panini, co-ed sports, recycling, with some sprinkles of "knowing what's best for poor people".

To notice, or worse mock, the cultural sanctuary of guilt-free "acceptable" whiteness that has been carved out by younger white folks (about my age, maybe a little older- maybe a little younger) is read as an attack when its the many shades of guilt that drove folks into these spaces to begin with. And that is why noticing the sanctimony, paternalism, and benign group characteristics are met with such hostile backlash. It was confusing to me for awhile, and it smacked of more than just the ignorance of open comment forums on the net.

When I sent this out in an e-mail I got a link back from a friend, http://whitewhine.tumblr.com/
My favorite white whine is, "My chiropractor has the worst selection of magazines in his waiting room; I mean, thanks, but I already read November's issue of Golf…back in November!" It makes me giggle every time!

Just What I Needed!

I was driving today to go get some jelly beans. (Jelly Bellies must have crack sprinkles or something! because otherwise I have not left the house.) And, as I'm driving down the street I see someone dressed up in an Uncle Sambo costume dancing near the entrance of a strip mall. Presumably, this guy is being paid by some vendor who has decided that the best way to get Black folks to patronize your establishment is to have someone dress up in a ridiculous costume and then go stand near traffic. No Uncle Sam costume? Don't worry, the Statue of Liberty, or a gorilla costume work just as well!

What does that have to do with wireless phone service? Or carpet instillation? Or anything for that matter other than a costume store? Who did the market research and came back with, "Okay, on the Black side of town, let's generate business by dressing people up in funny costumes!"
"Man poor people love costumes! Great idea, Stan!"

I couldn't help myself. I felt this inexplicable urge to pull into the strip mall, pausing of course long enough to ask Sambo which store he was dancing for, and then go make a No Money Down- No Payments Until 2009!!! purchase.

Why don't you see that shit on the North side of town?

"You know, Brenda I wasn't sure where to go to buy track lighting for the bonus room, when there I was driving down Coriander Ave., and this woman was dressed up like Betsy Ross! Just sewing away... So, I pulled into the strip mall and found all kinds of goodies!"

"You don't say! You know, Janet, that's how I found my chiropractor. I was just determined to drive around town until I saw someone dressed up like a manatee, and sure enough Dr. Gregg has been the best for my deviated septum."

"Your nose?"

"He's the best!"

I'm Black Ya'll


Remember CB4 when the group split up and Dead Mike had his single? (I love youtube! I thought his name was "Black Mike," until I went back and added a hyperlink.)

I'm Black ya'll!
And I'm Black ya'll,
And I'm Blacker than Black and I'm Black Ya'll

And I'm Black Ya'll and I'm Black Ya'll, and I'm Blacker than Black and I'm Black Ya'll!
And I'm Black-bligity-Black-Black-Black-ta-Black-Black and I'm bligity Black-ta-Black Black Ya'll!

We'll I think the movie was making another point through satire, but it's what runs through my mind when I identify as Black, and other folks try to coercively correct me; urging me to change my cultural moniker to "African-American". I used to identify as an African-American, and took great pride in the identity. I loved the pan-African connection, and the recognition that I do not know where in Africa my ancestry runs so I claim the continent entire. I am of the soil and people of Africa; the descendant of enslaved people with a history that predates the trans-Atlantic trade of "rum and sugar," which built the fortunes that continue to flourish today. As an aside, I went to an institution whose endowment is traceable to the fortunes of slavery, and it looks very much like a plantation to this day.

So, I was an African-American, and people like me to use the term African-American, because "Black" has such pejorative connotation in their mind; particularly when I'm speaking to older folks who have some relationship to the 1960's Civil Rights struggle and the Black Power Movement. Some have gone on to proclaim their membership in revolutionary circles by declaring themselves "African". Yes? The progeny of Black Power revolutionaries, and their insightful critiques of "So-called Negroes." Africans!

And, the label for the masses, Afro-American? Based on Euro-Americans, as that was what we strove to emulate, right Mr. Booker T.? Well, since there is no Afroca, we became African-Americans, able to hold our heads high. Relaxed, Jheri Curled, Fried-dyed and laid to the side- heads high. African-Americans- a noble race of scholars, mathematicians (don't get me started on Imhotep), inventors, poets, artists of every stripe (I remember in a class I took, "The History of Lynching in the United States," near the end of the semester one of the white students in the class noted, "You know, it's as if Black people in America have been the despised purveyors of culture." DAMN! Couldn't have said it better myself!) singers, choreographers, soldiers, confederate soldiers!, kings, queens, and original homosapiens supported both by anthropological and genetic findings. African-Americans! We!

My mom is African-American. My father is Afro-Caribbean. And the same hierarchy of oppression that exists with respect to skin color outside of Blackness, exists within Blackness. I don't mean the brown-bag test of acceptable blackness, and fettishization of light-skinned brothers and sisters that was prominent until sometime around the end of Al B. Sure's career. I'm talking about the hierarchy of acceptable Blackness that exists within Black communities which posits African-Americans at the top of the hierarchy of oppression.

To be Black in America means to be African-American. But, what of the experience and needs of dark-skinned, Latino(a)s? Haitians? Jamaicans? Straight-up outta Africa Africans? In my community, it was very clear that to be Black is to be African-American, and "foreigners"were met with mockery and contempt. I understand the processes of internalized oppression, and the self-replicating nature of oppressive systems. Nevertheless, it's interesting to watch the children of black-skinned people assimilate into African-Americaness.

So, what does it mean to be African-American other than to have black-skin and to speak without the betrayal of a foreign accent? Well, if you and or your parents were foreign-born, or have other ancestry, it means that you must acquiesce your cultural distinctiveness in order to be grafted into a history that may not involve your family. Sound familiar?

Being African-American means being accepted as part of a broader community, which you may or may not relate to, but have been ascribed to. Being African-American means being part of a rich tapestry, which may negate the particularities of your cultural identity.

Dress like this.
Talk like this.
Laugh at this?
Learn to accept this.
This is your place.
Do not challenge it.
Many have before you,
I can show you their tombstones if you need.
Step into this role, because this is what society will allow you to become.

Do not threaten our community.
Do not jeopardize our safety.
Be black like this,
because this is what we have figured out to escape the ravages of racism.

Agonizing, and tortuous, the best we can figure out
is to appear safe and friendly or angry and unapproachable;
just to find some rest from the maddening process of being targeted and attacked only then to
be ignored.
Attacked, and then blamed for being angry.

We are hopeful that someday life will get better,
maybe in the sweet by and by.
Maybe our children won't notice that they have been broken by racism,
as long as we break their hopefulness young enough.
They can live in this toxic soup and be
just fine.

Be Black like this.
Do not terrorize or terrify us with foreign ideas. We are tired, and we are weary.
God Damn It! We are doing the best that we can!
Be Black like this, because this is what we know.